As a woman, I’m generally expected to connect sex to emotion at the most basic levels. I think maybe I was dropped on my head as a child one time too many, because somewhere along the line I lost the direct correlation between the two. For this belief, I’ve been examined as some kind of inhuman oddity. Add to this the fact that I don’t quantify my intrinsic female “value” by the number of sexual partners I’ve had. It’s a bullshit double standard and I don’t buy into traditional patriarchal society’s views of the sexually liberated woman. However, freedom isn’t free.
Even when you try to “give” away pieces of yourself, ultimately you pay a price. If you’ll allow me to go deep for a moment, orgasm is referred to in Shakespearean literature as “the little death”; therefore, in a respect it’s like paying Charon for each crossing of the River Styx: Each experience debits your personal “passion account”. I lived for years teetering dangerously close to the edge of passionate bankruptcy. The world was robbed of most of its essential vitality. Colors weren’t as intense…even eating my favorite things or indulging in my favorite hobbies brought me very little pleasure. Then the worst of all: Having sex became like watching paint dry. I’d take a pause for the cause when I needed to (trust, those pauses always WERE very brief LMAO) and when I was feeling froggish, I leapt.
Eventually I came to understand that each and every time you have sexual intercourse with someone, whether you share a great love with them or not, you not only leave a little bit of yourself behind that you can never regain, you take a tiny piece of the other with you. Lady MacBeth was onto something, because it’s deeper than blood and impossible to wipe away.
In this construct, I attempt to paint a picture of sex as being very similar to economics. Sex is an investment of physical passion, if nothing else. Following generally accepted economic practices, if you “get what you pay for”, it would stand to reason that sex without emotion is a bad investment that guarantees no return. Thank God it doesn’t always work like that. There are exceptions to every rule. “Found Money,” we might call it *wink*.
I have discovered that it’s still within me to disconnect sex from love, and still be shaken to my very soul by the experience. I know now, however, that I prefer to be physically intimate with someone with whom I share emotional intimacy. I know when it’s time to shift my portfolio from high risk junk bonds to safe, slowly maturing government t-bills. A wise investor can still play her percentages occasionally and keep her risk to a minimum. Most regrets in life (at least for me) stem from the risks we didn’t take or the opportunities we feel like we missed. It’s smart to play it safe, but sometimes ya gotta shake things up just a little bit.
The last few years of my life have seen me hedge some pretty steep bets. The markers have been called in, and I have time and again paid with my pound of flesh. The good thing about it is that sexual fortune, as with monetary fortune, is won and lost every day. I’ve learned to cover myself with enough reserve to subsist even in the lean times, and I will continue to play the market for all it’s worth.
Are you saving for the rainy day(s) ahead? I know I am.
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